There was, however, one account which was a sealed book to them all, and
that was the one of Richard Garman. No mortal eye had ever seen it. Some
thought it might possibly be in the Consul's own red book; others
thought that no such thing existed. True it was undoubtedly, that the
chief carried on personally all the correspondence with his brother;
and, wonderful to relate, these letters were never copied. This was food
for much speculation among the clerks, and at last they came to the
conclusion that the young Consul did not wish any one to know in what
relation Richard Garman stood to the firm.

One thing was plain, and confirmed by long experience, and that was,
that the Consul attached great importance to the letters that came from
his brother. He read them before the rest of the post, and if any one
happened to come in when he was thus engaged, he always covered the
correspondence with a sheet of paper. One of the younger clerks once
asserted that he had seen a bill of exchange in one of the aforesaid
letters, but the statement found but little credence in the office; for
it was a recognized fact that not one single paper existed which bore
Richard Garman's signature. Another story, which was even less worthy of
credit, was one told by the office messenger, who stated that one day he
had brought a letter from Bratvold, and that as he came in with the
portfolio he had found the young Consul standing by the key-drawer, with
a letter in one hand and two bills of exchange in the other, quite red
in the face, and apparently bent double, as if he was on the point of
choking. The messenger thought at first that it was a fit, but it was
plain to the meanest understanding that there was not a word of truth in
the story, for the messenger had the audacity to aver that he had heard
the young Consul give vent to a short but unmistakable laugh. There was
plainly a misapprehension somewhere; every one knew that the young
Consul was unable to laugh.